


Poison Honey

by abelrunner5



Series: poison honey [1]
Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Like A Lot of Angst I'm Not Kidding, Mentions Of Hallucinations and Trauma, POV Second Person, Season 3 Spoilers, Zombies Write!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abelrunner5/pseuds/abelrunner5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were just here, at Abel. You were here just yesterday. You were here, but not. Everything was more neon-bright, the colors magnetic, the air tasting like honey and your veins buzzing with her voice. But now, it's dulled. Now, it's faded. Or maybe you are. Maybe coming home isn't easy this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison Honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBrunetteWeasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrunetteWeasley/gifts).



> One day after.

You watch Simon and Amelia drive off with something close to gratitude, but not quite. Not quite yet. You turn, the deep and dark woods surrounding you, and take a deep breath. You can do this. You have to. With tired legs, you walk forward, trying to steady your rabbit heart and wild, flighty thoughts. You know where you are — ten minutes out from Abel, in the thick grove of bramble and oak you always run through on your usual supply route. But there is nothing usual about this run. Walk. Whatever. The trees start to thin, and you know you can't avoid thinking about _it_ forever. With shaky feet, you step into the sunlight, the bright, clear sky greeting you. So celestial blue it's almost insulting.

_It_ starts to push to the front of your thoughts, again, when you see Abel in the distance, the radio tower the first thing that catches your eye. _Moonchild. She made you — she —_

You shake your head and continue moving forward. You need to focus on right now. On getting home. You fill your lungs with clean air, trying to calm the slight tremble of your fingers. The sun burns your eyes — what time is it? Two o'clock? Three-thirty, maybe? God, does it even matter? Does anything matter, after what you did? Your stomach turns in revulsion as you imagine everyone's faces of traitor, of horror, of monster, monster, Five, you're a monster — No. It's okay. They'll forgive you. You were mind-controlled, and couldn't stop what you were doing. Even if you never forgive yourself, they'll forgive you. Right? Right? _Right?_ Do you even _deserve_ forgiveness? You inhale again, palms sweating. You're sure the long-range cams have got you by now. Will they even let you in? Who would? You hate your—

No. No. You can't break. Not now. You blink back the blurry tears, choking down the lump in your throat. Choking down the images of what you did — you can still see the neon-red colors and feel the searing heat on the back of your neck and the weight of the axe in your hand. You push it away. Two minutes until you reach Abel. One, if you're fast. Twenty seconds if you were running. But you're not. You're not running.

Birds chirp behind you — their melodic song grates against your skin, frays your already-shot nerves — and you can hear the familiar sound of the gates raising. It feels like vines around your heart, tightening. Can you face them? Can you do this? _Should_ you?

Three people walk out of the gates. Sam, Janine, and Maxine. You reach them, and you all stop. Everything stops. You feel like your chest has a boulder on top of it, crushing your airway. You can't meet any of their gazes. Dr. Myers is the first one to break the heavy silence. “Runner Five. It's good to see you.” Her voice is carefully soft. You force yourself to continue breathing at a steady pace. “I see you lost your headset. How are you feeling, Five?”

Translation: Are you mind-controlled and going to try to kill us all again, Five?

You manage to find your voice, and choke out a stumbling sentence. “I'm – I'm not under Moonchild's mind-control anymore, Maxine. That serum Simon gave me broke it. It, uh, gave me awful hallucinations instead of necrosis, but … I'm … myself, again.” It floods out of you, now, and you can't stop it. “He also told me that Ed made it off the Comansys ships before … before I ...” You trail off, finally able to drag your gaze up to meet Sam's. His eyes are confused, and relieved, and a little shattered. You look at him and want to collapse to your knees. Fall to the ground, where you belong. “I'm sorry. I know it means nothing after what I–I did, but I am so fucking sorry, God—”

Suddenly – inevitably, perhaps – warm arms surround you and pull you in. Sam hugs you so tightly your breath is squeezed out from your chest. You lean into him, barely able to feel the rough scratch of his sweatshirt against your cheek.

“I'm sorry. I am so, _so_ sorry,” you whisper, voice breaking. You swallow the pieces of guilt, leaning into him. Breathing him in. He smells like home. Like comfort. Like familiarity. And after all that cold, you need all the warmth and light you can get. You don't deserve it, but you need it, still.

“It's … It'll be okay, Five, I promise. I'm just glad you made it back home,” he replies, his voice all rough inflections and tired sweetness. You pull away, heartbeat inside your head now, loud and insistent on being heard. Alive. You're alive. _Are you? Are you, Five?,_ something close to Moonchild's voice whispers in the back of your head. You flinch a little, but ignore it. Ignore her. Push it away from the edges of your skull. Still, hearing her voice again sends a chill through you before you can stop it, and your brain tugs towards that still-fresh feeling of euphoria being under her control gave you. It cracks open your chest, spilling out need and awful, awful longing. You can't help it. And now you're hating yourself through an ever-present curtain of numbness. You monster, you. You take a step back from your friends.

They let you in after a few more quiet words between each other. You were just here, at Abel. Home. You were here just yesterday. You were here, but not. Everything was more neon-bright, the colors magnetic, the air tasting like honey and your tongue tingling with Moonchild's voice. Now, it's dulled. Now, it's faded. Or maybe you are.

Janine casts glances your way every few meters as you make your way to the hospital. Her eyes are furtive, hurt, and relieved all in one, somehow. “We're still working on repairing the damage, Five, but we've trained for this, and done it before," she comments, voice quietly rough, as you pass residents cleaning up the destruction of the zombies— _your_ destruction, what _you_ did to your home. You can't look. You can't look and you feel your gut burn with shame and a vast emptiness. They stare at you, burning holes in your already-ripped jacket. Maxine leads the way as Sam stays by your side, shoulder brushing yours from time to time.

Then, as you pass a block of dorms, Jody enters your vision and she crushes you in a hug before you're able to react. “Five, oh God, you're okay! I was so worried, I—”

You're frozen, and then you wrap your arms around her and squeeze. She squeezes harder. "Th—Thanks for the hug, Jody, but you're, uh, kind of crushing my ribs.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry!” She steps back quickly, and then you see it. The angry purple and red bruise on her jawbone stretching all the way up to her temple. The memory of slamming your fist into her skull; once, twice, three times hits you and you're struck with a wave of dizziness.

“Oh, God. Jody. I'm—I'm so sorry for hurting you, I didn't—I couldn't—"

She stops you there, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Hey. I know. It's … It's gonna be okay, Five. We all know you didn't mean to do any of that, yeah? We've still got your back.”

You nod, unable to speak through the tightness gripping your throat. Jody then leaves with a smile that looks a little too sad to be comforting, and you keep walking. Janine's shoulders are tensed.

Finally, you enter the hospital, and are shown into a small but relatively clean room. Maxine motions for you to sit down on the hospital bed. She clears her throat at Janine and Sam, who seem to have just realized that they walked all the way here with you, most likely unintentionally. “Could we have some privacy, guys?”

Janine blinks, and then nods sharply, leaving the room with a downward but slightly-softer-than-usual look. Sam is about to do the same when something sharp and needy tugs at your heartstrings. “Wait, Sam, don't—” You cut yourself off, sighing and looking down. “Would it be okay if you stayed for a bit?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Five,” he says, sitting down in a desk chair next to the bed. He then looks to Maxine inquisitively.

Dr. Myers nods as she gently removes your jacket, revealing your scratched up, bruised arms. “It's fine with me, Five. All I'll be doing right now is taking some blood to run some tests on, and later on we'll do a few brain scans. I'm sorry to have to do this right away, but the sooner we know you're safe, the better.”

You hum in agreement, trying to keep your gaze focused on her, but you can't stop it from being pulled back towards Sam. Sam, with his bruised fingers from you pushing him to the floor earlier – _you almost killed him, Five, you almost murdered your best friend_ – and his scuffed up jacket which he hasn't changed. With his doe-soft eyes. They're full of so much relief, and you look at him, and realize you don't deserve him. Or any of them. Or any of their forgiveness. Maxine flips your left arm, turning your palm upwards. “Five? I'm going to take some blood now, okay?”

And then you see the needle. Your skin breaks out into sweat, turning blotched and red. The doc notices your trembling fingers and damp palms, and frowns. “You okay?”

You nod, taking a shaky breath in. “Yeah. Sorry. I'm just … not the biggest fan of needles anymore.” Van Ark's laugh echoes in your brain, and the memory of veins that felt like fire and wasp venom surges to the surface. Sam is next to you, now, his weight sinking the bed.

“Hey. Just focus on me while Maxine does her thing, yeah?” His voice is soft. It smooths the jagged edges of your memory. Barely.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay.” You interlace your fingers with his when you feel the pinch of the needle, and Sam squeezes your hand. You focus on that electric-blue, electric-calm feeling that spreads from his touch, and breathing gets a little bit easier.

After that, Maxine runs her scans on your brain while Sam waits outside. You take a quick shower a few rooms over, washing off all the salt, and dirt, and blood. But you don't allow yourself to think. You just focus on water, soap, lather, rinse, repeat. When you're out, Dr. Myers reminds you that you can check in with her whenever you feel up to it, and that she and counselors are always available if you need someone to talk to. You nod, saying you might stop by tomorrow.

Now, it's over. You're clean. From her. Moonchild can never take you under her control again. Then why does it feel like you're falling every time you take a step? Why does it feel like sunlight is running through you when you think of her voice, and her glinting eyes, and the way she laughed and so did you? Your brain wanders towards that ghost of happiness, and your chest becomes a tangled blend of warmth and choking pain. _You need to stop feeling happy when you think of her, Five._ Stop that automatic association with wildflower joy and euphoria — you'll never feel that high again — she's a monster but she's inside you, and — and you can't get her out. A poison that tasted like dandelion wine. Poison honey. It makes everything worse.

Or maybe it's the guilt that hasn't fully sunken in yet. It will hit you. You'll think about what you did. You've held it at bay, but now that you've got nothing to focus on, it's going to hit you and you aren't sure if—

You run into Sam. Like, literally collide with him, your head down and hands shoved into your pockets. He steadies you. “Whoa, hey. Everything go okay in there?”

“Yeah. I'm, uh, immune to mind-control now,” you say, almost automatically. You aren't here, not really. You're in the midst of being terrified of the guilt that is going to eventually hit you because of what — what you — what Moonchild made you —

Sam notices. God, of course he does. He always notices. “Hey, Five, listen. Is … Is there anything I can do?”

Your entire body is begging you to run. Run, move, leave, get out _._ _Now._

“Could we – could we go somewhere quiet? It's so loud in here, I—" Something is chewing away at you. You know what it is. You don't want to face it. You'll have to.

“Yeah. Of course. Come on, the orchard should be empty by now.”

As you follow him through the park, you notice that it's dinner time. You can tell, since the streets are quiet except for a few people here and there repairing damage on houses and fences. You stare as you pass by them. This doesn't feel … real, exactly. It kind of feels like everything is underwater, or dipped in a coat of molasses; slowing it all down. It reminds you of the floaty hallucinations of Dr. V, the mental institution, Archie and Sara. God, seeing Runner Eight and Archie again felt like a knife to the gut. Hearing and seeing and talking with them again brought out buried grief. You miss them. You miss them. You miss them. Lost in thought, you reach the orchard without noticing, your feet continuing to move on their own. Sam stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Is here good?"

You nod, because the place doesn't really matter. You aren't exactly aware of your surroundings, not while trying to stop your thoughts from focusing on what — what you — what Moonchild made you —

You're on the ground, now. Leaning against the sturdiest apple tree. Sam is by your side. Close, but not touching.

_What did you do, Five?_

The air hangs heavy with the summer scents of honeysuckle and lemongrass. It hangs heavy with what you're pushing away. The bark of the tree digs into your spine as you huddle deeper into yourself.

_You—you—_

A dog barks in the distance, its loud howling echoing through the township. Sam's shoulder touches yours. Are you leaning into him, or is he leaning into you?

_Abel—those ships—_

Your fingers dig into the insides of your navy blue pocketed sweatshirt; the one that used to be Runner Eight's. Your hands haven't stopped shaking since you reached the woods with Simon and Amelia. Have they ever stopped shaking?

_You killed—_

Sam asks if he can put an arm around you, since your whole body is trembling. You say yes. He shifts and you feel weight on your shoulders but you aren't sure if it's his arm or if it's the weight of something else.

What did you do, Runner Five?

_You …_ _You_ _killed hundreds of people with four numbers and one word punched into a keypad. 3358-berries, remember? Your hands were the ones to hit enter. Your body was the one to move out. You didn't warn anyone. You smiled—no, grinned—at the blazing heat and raining ash. You couldn't help it. Or could you? What if you didn't try hard enough to stop it? Does it matter, really? All those people are still dead. All of those good people, with dreams and hopes and favorite cereals and_ _loved ones_ _are all dead. And you were happy. Hell, you've never felt so good. And as if that weren't enough, you then knocked out Jody, destroyed Maxine's research, let zombies into Abel and then tried to murder your best friend — your simpatico — with an axe._ _The whole time_ ,  _you were all golden-honey-veins and grins._

_And somehow, you're still here._

That, right there, is when it fully washes through you. All those lives. All of those people. All of them are _dead_. And it was you, and Moonchild, and _you_. The feeling of numbness and half-denial subsides. The guilt and unbridled grief slam through your body, battering you, like wreckage. Like the wreckage you just caused. The sobs start to make their way out of your tangled chest, and they're heaving and choked.

“What—what have I done? Oh, God, _what have I done?_ ” You gasp out, holding your hands to your chest, nails biting into palms.

The sun fades into the hills in the horizon. Sam pulls you closer. You lean—no, you melt—into his embrace, as though it's the only thing stopping you from just dissolving, or cracking, or being swallowed up by the enormity of what happened just a day ago.

“It wasn't _you_ , Five. It was Moonchild. It was all her.”

“I – I know, but does it matter? Hundreds of-of people are still gone, and I couldn't stop it, and it's—"

You almost say _it's so heavy, Sam,_ but Moonchild. She said it first. And you do not want to sound like her, or be like her, or even think about her.

So, you don't finish your sentence. You can't. Not with the pressure behind your eyes, or the violently quiet sobs, or the impossible weight breathing down your neck, breaking your collarbones, almost.

“I'm here, Five. I've got you.”

When you don't – can't – reply, Sam just tightens his arm around your shoulders, and presses his lips to your hair. Leans his cheek against your head. His presence is a solid something in a chaotic everything. Something to hold onto while your sense of self crumbles.

You both stay there, watching the sun melt. Watching you melt. Who are you now? How are you going to survive this one, Five? You don't know. You don't know. But for now?

You stay there. You stay there. You just … stay there.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this fic got a lot angstier than expected when I started out. It's one interpretation of what could have happened between those two missions. I tried to include a little Sam/Five, as per your prompt. I hope you enjoyed it!


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